by Lauren Royal
“I’m so glad.”
At the sound of the door slamming shut, she jumped and whirled to face him. “What was that?”
“They’re outside.”
She put a hand to her racing heart. “Who?”
“Your animals.” He grinned. “They cannot come in here. But they’re not out in the rain. There’s no need to worry—”
“You’re impossible.” Now that the bed was out of sight, safely behind her back, she was feeling amorous again. She went closer and went on her toes for a kiss. “The animals really don’t care.”
“I care.” He kissed her forehead, not her mouth. “This time I don’t want any distractions.” His hands on her shoulders, he slowly backed her up. “This time is going to be different.” He kept going, his thumbs caressing the sides of her neck, inciting a delicious shiver. “This time—”
The backs of her legs bumped into something.
The bed.
“This time,” he concluded, “we’ll do it my way.”
It was a high four-poster bed with two steps leading up to it. Rand lifted her by the waist and sat her atop the feather mattress.
She swallowed hard. “Your way?”
“My way. Slow and easy…”
The way he said that made her suspect there would be nothing easy about it.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he began removing her shoes. Slowly. And untying her garters. Slowly. And rolling down her stockings. Slowly.
Those hot cravings she’d been feeling—the ones that had driven her to run here, the ones that had prompted her to slide her hands under Rand’s robe, to brazenly tell him she’d come to his bed—were returning at an alarming speed.
“Rand?” He looked like he was concentrating very hard, his gray gaze intent on what he was doing, his fingers tracing featherlight patterns on her skin. She quivered. “Do you think you could go a little faster?”
“We did fast yesterday. I told you, I intend to go slow.”
“But why?” He was driving her mad. “If we go fast,” she argued, “maybe we’ll have time to do it twice.”
His hands fell away from her as he burst out laughing. She crossed her arms, indignant, wondering which upset her more: him laughing at her expense, or the fact that he’d ceased touching her.
Then he smilingly shook his head and said, “Good heavens, I love you.” And she wasn’t upset at all.
The laughter lingered in his eyes. “My sweet Lily. You seduced me in the summerhouse, but it’s my turn tonight. And if you’re good, we’ll do it twice.”
“If I’m good?”
“If you let me do it my way.”
His way was exquisite torture. It took him ages just to remove her clothing, and he managed to graze every bit of her skin along the way. By the time he finished, there wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t tingling with anticipation.
At last he stood beside the bed and shrugged out of his dressing gown, his body gilded by the dim light of the single candle. He had a runner’s long sculpted muscles, all shadowed in stark relief.
She could see he was ready to take her, and she was more than ready to be taken. She licked her lips and raised her arms to him, holding her breath when he eased her onto her back and moved over her.
“Lily.” He felt so warm, his weight supported on his elbows, his fingertips dancing on her face. Barely touching, just enough to make her skin tremble in response. “Lily, you make me burn.”
“Rand—”
“Hush.” His lips grazed her ear, lightly, lightly. Pleasure rippled through her, and heat pooled in her middle. He took an earlobe into his mouth, sucking softly, and the room seemed to spin, rattling her senses.
“Rand—”
“Hush. Be good.” His lips trailed down her neck, a warm swath of sensation. He rolled off her to lie next to her, tracing her waist with teasing fingertips while he bent his head to taste her breasts. It was too much at once, especially when he swirled his tongue around one rosy peak and then bit it gently.
She gasped, feeling it harden in response. Feeling him harden against her thigh. She reached down and wrapped her hand around him, eager to find what he felt like…warm velvet over steel. Her heart racing, she moved her fingers experimentally, and his moan made her blood race even faster.
When a scratching came at the door, his moan turned into a groan.
“It’s only Beatrix,” she whispered. “Ignore her.”
He did. His talented mouth on her breasts roused a melting sweetness within her. He nibbled her neck while his hand moved to tease her legs, up and down their length, coaxing them apart, trailing between. His fingertips skimmed her thighs, and currents of desire rippled through her.
Then he kissed her until she was breathless, until she was senseless, until her entire world was consumed with the taste and touch of him. And all that long time his fingers worked closer to where she ached, until they were almost there.
Almost.
Lily touched him everywhere she could reach. He was so very male, his body gloriously hard compared to her softness. Her breathing quickened when his did; her heart pumped faster when she felt his pulse respond to her touch. But his hands and mouth on her remained slow and steady.
A sound of surprise escaped her lips when he rolled her onto her stomach. “Hush, Lily,” he said. “Be good.”
It was frustrating, because she couldn’t touch him now, not really, not the way she wanted to. Her hands fisted at her sides. She felt his lips on the soles of her feet, warm and damp and ticklish, and was astonished to find her whole body was so sensitive. He nipped along her calves, paid homage to the backs of her knees, and nibbled the insides of her thighs, pausing in his upward journey to rain kisses across her bottom.
The ache was becoming unbearable. She squirmed and heard a low chuckle in response, his lips on her skin making the sound vibrate right through her.
Tiny pecking sounds came through the door.
Rand froze. “Lady?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Lily came up on her elbows. “Ignore her.”
Beatrix’s scratching joined the pecking as Rand eased her back down to the sheets. “They seem unhappy. Maybe we should let them in.”
“They’re fine.” She turned over and cupped one of his cheeks with a hand, loving the masculine roughness. “Ignore them. Please.”
He smiled, a smile so darkly sensuous it made her breath catch in her throat. He turned his head and kissed her palm, a warm press of his lips as he held her gaze with his. “Be good, now,” he said, rolling her back onto her stomach. He climbed over her and straddled her thighs. “I’m not finished.”
She sucked in a breath. He was there, hard between her legs, nearly where she wanted him. His fingers danced over her back, massaging, tantalizing, teasing. She quivered beneath him, dying to have him inside her, feeling him there so close.
For a moment—a moment that felt like forever—he raised his hands. Lily waited, waited, her heart beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. Then she felt the sliding tickle of her hair as he swept it to one side, felt him lean forward and place a shivery, soft kiss to her nape. Felt his chest hard and warm against her back, felt his breath wafting over her.
Felt the cool air as he drew away…
…felt his tongue on the base of her spine, a long, hot swipe all the way to her neck.
She trembled uncontrollably and heard little taps on the door.
Jasper, hitting something against it.
And then Rand’s heavy sigh. “Maybe we should—”
“Ignore them!” she cried, twisting under him, writhing until she managed to get faceup, until she half sat and grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him down upon her. “Ignore them and kiss me!”
He did, parting her lips, tasting of sin and seduction. She’d asked for kisses, and he kissed her. For what seemed an hour, he only kissed her. He kissed her and kissed her, hot kisses that spoke of possession.
She could touch him now, and she did…until hi
s breath sounded as harsh as her own, until their hearts pounded in tandem, until she thought she might scream…until he rolled to his side, taking her with him, and slipped a hand between her legs.
He cupped her and then stilled.
Feeling an incredible urgency, an indescribable ache, she arched up against his fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting…
And he finally moved his hand.
Slowly. Too slowly. Over and over. And over and over, stroking her with exquisite tenderness, until she heard little cries and realized they were hers, until she wondered if one could die from this overwhelming need…
And then he slipped a finger inside her.
“Rand,” she breathed. It was too much. Too, too much. The world spun crazily. He drew out, a dazzling glide of sensation, then plunged in again, making her hips lift off the bed. Again. Again and again until she thought her heart might burst from the pleasure.
And then it did. It burst into countless little pieces, and they hadn’t even come back together yet when she felt him move up and slide into her as he covered her cry with his mouth.
He felt so perfect, joined with her, filling her, that tears came to her eyes. When he moved, they moved together. A dance of love, slow and measured and then fast and frenzied, until she burst again, this time taking him with her.
The candle guttered across the room, and the chamber went from dimness to darkness. Lily heard scratching and pecking and tapping, but she was blissfully limp on the bed. “Ignore them,” she whispered, the words barely passing her lips.
Feeling his way in the blackness, Rand pressed a kiss to her slack mouth. “You sound tired.” She heard a smile in his voice, a smile of pure masculine pride. “Do you still want to do it twice?”
“Oh, yes,” she said on a sigh.
“I’m glad to hear it, sweet Lily.”
Twice, she thought, would never be enough. But she needed some time to recover first.
As his tongue traced her lips, she decided five minutes would do.
THIRTY-FIVE
“YOU LOOK VERY nice, Rand,” Lily said the next morning.
Rand blinked. Standing outside the inn while they waited for the rest of her family, he’d been lost in thought, rehearsing in his head the upcoming interview with his father. Now he focused on her, noticing that her pale green dress was quite lovely. The underskirt was white, the stomacher and sleeves sprinkled with little white rosettes.
Very demure and aristocratic. His father would approve.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile. “You look very nice, too.”
She moved closer, sweeping him with an appreciative glance. “You look even better than at the baptism.”
A special occasion, that baptism, and he’d dressed the part. His smile widened at the memory. But the smile turned wry as he suddenly realized he’d dressed for his father today, even going so far as to have hied himself off to a barber early this morning to have his hair properly trimmed.
Ruefully he ran two fingers along his freshly shaved jaw. After all these years, he was still trying to impress the old goat.
The thought stuck in his craw, and he briefly contemplated returning home to strip off his dove gray velvet suit in favor of one of the wool ones he usually wore. But they were running late already.
As was typical with the Ashcrofts, he heard them before he saw them. Along with the family came a valet and two maids and an incredible amount of luggage considering they’d left home for just one night. The trappings of nobility could be cumbersome, to say the least. It took a good bit of time to get everyone and everything settled, during which Rand was reminded why he’d never wanted to be a marquess.
The ride to Trentingham was a loud one with similar rigmarole at the other end. Rand breathed a sigh of relief when he and Lily finally set out for Hawkridge alone.
“How far is it?” she asked, leaning against him in the carriage.
“Not very. A couple of hours downriver.”
She glanced up at him, looking surprised. “I wonder, then, why I never met you before Violet’s wedding. I thought I’d been to every house within a day’s driving distance with my mother and her gifts of perfume.”
“There were no women at Hawkridge,” he reminded her. “My mother died before you were born. And there were all those years you were at Tremayne, remember? Far away near Wales. Then, soon after you returned, I left for Oxford.”
“But surely your father entertains.”
“Not since the death of my mother. Even Christmas at Hawkridge is a rather dreary affair, with more attention paid to servants and tenants than any real celebrating.”
“It sounds dismal,” she said, rubbing the scars on her hand, her eyes apprehensive. “However did you make friends?”
“It wasn’t easy.” He’d met few young people during his years at home. “If Kit hadn’t lived so nearby, I likely wouldn’t have had any friends at all.”
Lily’s apprehension faded, replaced by a look Rand could describe only as resolute. “Well, if we end up living at Hawkridge, things will change.”
Rand very much doubted that, but he did allow that Lily had a better chance of influencing his father than he did. He suddenly realized what a good catch she was for a man such as himself: an academic who, until recently, had borne a courtesy title only.
The Earl of Trentingham’s daughter. He’d never considered her status before, since he didn’t care about such things, but Lady Lily Ashcroft was the sort of wife the Marquess of Hawkridge would approve. He wondered if her mother had been thinking in that direction when she’d insisted Lily come along. He was beginning to suspect Lady Trentingham was a very cunning woman. But he liked her.
Lily yawned and laid her head on his shoulder. “Sleepy?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm. But yesterday was nice.”
He knew she meant last night, but pretended to misunderstand. “Oh, yes, it was very nice. Up until I received the blasted letter and Rowan fell off the scaffolding.”
“It was nice after that, too,” she protested.
And he realized it had been, even without counting their very nice encounter in the wee hours. “You’re right,” he said. “The afternoon went very smoothly, all considered. Your parents didn’t let Rowan’s prank ruin everything. They didn’t seem angry.”
“Events occur. You take them in stride.”
His family hadn’t. “They also don’t seem upset that you’re marrying a professor.”
“You’re an earl now, too.”
“But I wasn’t, and they never seemed to care.”
“They trust my choice. Besides, they admire you and what you’ve done with your life.”
He’d sensed that. Just walking around the city with them, he’d felt perfectly comfortable. He’d felt like he belonged. “You have a wonderful family.”
“My father is half deaf, my mother is an unrepentant gossip, my brother thinks tricking people is a laudable achievement, my sister lusts after the man I love—”
“They’re wonderful,” he repeated. “You’re all so close.”
If he’d been envious of that closeness, yesterday had changed that. Because they’d accepted him as though he were one of their own. To them, he wasn’t a disappointment.
They were the family he’d never had.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he said in a voice made husky by unfamiliar emotion. A day with Lily’s family had made clear what he’d missed out on all his life: the laughter, the friendly bickering, the love, that amazing unconditional acceptance.
He wanted, more than ever, to create a family like that with Lily.
In no time at all—or so it seemed to Rand, who’d as soon it took forever—their carriage was turning away from the Thames and rolling up the wide drive to Hawkridge Hall.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lily said softly.
Rand couldn’t help thinking she’d probably rather live here, in a mansion on the bucolic banks of the river, than in a smaller house smack in the
middle of Oxford.
His gaze swept over the three-story redbrick building. Although its symmetrical H shape was typical of houses built this century, the house was atypical in size and appointments. And the marquess spared no expense to keep it that way. The windows had been replaced since Rand moved away, now the new sash style with double-glazed glass. The mansion was the height of contemporary fashion.
But it sickened him. He had few happy memories of this place.
“It shows no signs of damage,” Lily remarked. “Yet your family supported Charles in the war, did they not? How is it that Hawkridge escaped Cromwell’s wrath, and so close to London, no less?”
“We have my mother to thank for that. Publicly, she was great friends with Oliver Cromwell and went so far as to entertain him here. Privately, she was an important member of the Sealed Knot.”
“What was that?”
“A clandestine organization that aimed to restore Charles to the throne. The members had secret names; my mother was ‘Mrs. Gray.’ When I was very young, she traveled to the Continent several times as a courier. Many letters went back and forth, always written in code.”
“Ah, I see where you inherited that talent for deciphering your brother’s diaries.”
He grinned. “My mother even concocted an invisible ink that they used. In the Sealed Knot letters, Cromwell was ‘Mr. Wright.’ While on the surface she supported him, all along she was plotting his downfall.”
“She must have been quite a woman.”
“She was smart and principled and beautiful. And I suppose she made this home beautiful, too,” he added, knowing, in a detached way, that it was. “But I don’t want to live here.”
“I, too, would prefer to live in Oxford,” Lily assured him, sounding sincere.
He hoped she meant those words, because he meant to fight to keep his current life. And with her on his side, he had some hope he’d accomplish that goal. The marquess was sure to adore her.
“But I’ll be happy living wherever you are,” she added as the carriage rolled to a stop.
He pulled her close for a kiss. “Thank you for that.” He dredged up a smile. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”